Ever At Your Service [Part X]

[sapphirewings7]

Title: Ever At Your Service [Part X]
Fandom: Final Fantasy XII
Characters: Basch/Ashe, Vossler,
Rating: T
Summary: Ashe keeps Basch at a distance; Vossler meets his end.



Ashe keeps Basch at a distance for weeks. While they traverse the sandsea to raid Raithwall’s tomb she keeps close to Balthier, leaving Basch often to trail behind. She can barely look at him and she does not know why. It is too difficult to see him so changed - silenced and hardened by his time in Nalbina, his handsome face scarred. It seems that he’s used all the words he has left in his first days of freedom, and now he is silent.

Every once in a while she turns to look at him. He is always alert and looking around, but when she turns, he knows and meets her gaze. Sometimes he smiles encouragingly, and others he just stares. At first it makes her uneasy, but when they reach a brief reprieve on a staircase in the tomb, she begins to understand.

Basch approaches her as she tests her wrist. Her sword arm took a particularly rough blow in their last skirmish and she is unsure whether or not she can continue to fight with the heavy weapon.

“Are you alright, majesty?”

She glances at him, then looks back to her arm. It is starting to swell a bit at the joint. She cringes and lowers her sword.

“I tire of this weapon. Will you trade me your bow for a while?”

“You are injured?” He is worried and takes a step closer, which she instantly counters with a step back.

“Never mind. I will be fine.”

She turns from him and descends the stairs, closing her eyes as she does so. It seems so wrong that she should scorn the one person who she knows would give everything for her.

She looks down to Vossler who is helping Penelo adjust her armor. Vossler is kind, but she senses a working in the back of his mind that makes her uneasy.

Why not tell Basch she is sore and tired? What is to gain from lying to him? He would fight for himself and for her if she asked him to. It would seem that he would do anything, anything at all to make her trust him again, and while that makes her wary, despite all evidence that he is innocent and loyal still, having him take care of her duty for the time being would not be such a crime, would it? He means nothing to her now, after all.

At least that is what she tells herself.

She looks back up the stairs to see him leaning against the rail, rotating his ankle and bouncing on his foot. He is hurt too - it seems Basch is injured more often than the rest of the party and Ashe knows why. He rushes in first, willing to sacrifice himself to the hard blows of an energized and healthy enemy rather than let her or anyone else take them on.

She sighs and walks back up the stairs to him, the voices of the others echoing about in the cavernous room. “Are you alright?”

He nods and stands up straight immediately, unwilling to show weakness if she is not. She can nearly hear his thoughts as if he were speaking them.

They are no longer friends. Simply knight and princess.

Nothing more.

There is nothing left of the trust they’d built. Hers had been broken in the two years of doubt she’d faced and his had been broken when she did not believe his innocence. She looks up into his eyes and sees that they are equals in this game that they play.

He holds out his hand for her sword but she doesn’t give it to him. “Your ankle is hurt. You shouldn’t be carrying a heavy weapon.”

“You’ve injured your wrist.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself anymore. You’re too valuable.”

Basch sighs, and she can see him trying - and failing - to cover his agitation with her. She’d always wondered why he put up with her, and it is clear he is wondering the same thing now.

“Yes. A valuable fighter. I know my place.”

“That is not what I meant.”

Penelo yells from below - another beast has emerged - and the moment is stolen from Ashe as she hears Balthier’s battle cry of “damn, again?” She sighs, takes up her sword despite the pain, though Basch reaches again to take it from her. She would have him suffer no more for her weaknesses.

No more.

Basch’s calm façade is difficult to maintain. Being aboard the Leviathan is harsh enough, but this? This is beyond even his skill to bear with grace.

Vossler, the traitor, knew all along that Vayne was after the Dawn Shard, for it is the deifacted nethicite that will give him power. Not only was he willing to sell the destructive power to Archades to, in theory, regain some of Dalmasca’s sovereignty, but he offered up Ashe to be Vayne’s puppet.

I trusted him, Basch thinks as they walk aboard the Shiva. For the first time in weeks he has not made sure Ashe was before him. Let them talk a few paces behind him and let her hurt gaze burn Vossler as it once burned him.

So this is how Ashe felt when she thought her friend had betrayed her.

“When we return to Dalmasca,” he hears Vossler say, “we can announce that you are alive and well. I will then continue our negotiations with the Empire. I believe Larsa is the key. He’ll listen to us. We should trust him.”

Ashe will not take that lightly.

“Who are you, Vossler, to talk of trust.”

Only one set of footsteps follows Basch now - the light ones of the princess. He smirks a bit at the irony of it all. He, who has given all he could to Dalmasca and Ashe, was innocent and seen as guilty, while Vossler, Ashe’s faithful protector, was willing to offer her freedom in a bargain the Empire would surely not honor.

This is the man he’d trusted her care to more than once. The man he’d trusted to watch his back during battle.

The man he’d let dance with his princess at her wedding.

‘She is so beautiful,’ Basch thinks, as Ashe bows to her husband formally after their first dance as husband and wife. She has already danced with her father and he watches as she looks around the crowd, glowing as she sees all the people she cares about around her. She is happy, and he supposes that is all he can ask for given that she can never be happy with him.

Her eyes fall on him and she smiles warmly. She holds out her hand to him, inviting him to dance, but Basch does not dance. He has not the grace for a dancer as Ashe does. He waves his hand, laughs a little and smiles at her, trying to let her know, but she is insistent and walks to him.

“Humor me, Basch?” she asks, taking his hand in her own, “Just once dance?”

He cannot look into her eyes and deny her, so he hangs his head and lets her pull him onto the dance floor. He is wearing the Dalmascan formal light armor for the reception, but his movement is still limited and he is uncomfortable. He feels the eyes of all the guests on them. Rasler watches them from the edge of the circle and gives Basch a smile. He wonders if the prince knows how he feels for the new bride.

The song changes. It is another slow one, but it has no romantic words to embarrass them - simply a slow piano and violin. Ashe keeps her hand in his and rests her other arm around his shoulders and he has no choice but to oblige. He gives her hand a squeeze and takes her waist and they dance slowly.

“I haven’t spoken to you today.” She says this as if he has not noticed. He made a decision the night prior not to speak to her until she had been married, lest his emotions betray him and he beg her to reconsider and run away with him.

He was too old for her. Too broken, too scarred, too common.

“I would assume you were avoiding me,” he jests, “but I know you have been rather busy, what with getting married and all.”

She laughs, but her heart is not in it. “Forgive me. It will not happen again.”

Her confidence in her marriage both delights and depresses him. He wants her to be happy, yes, but the selfish man in him that knows no class or vows is desperate for her love. He does not look at her for a moment and only scans the crowd above her head.

“Basch? Are you alright?”

He looks down at her and he knows his mask falls. The pain shows through - he feels it on his face and in his eyes, try as he might to force it back, deep down in him where it belongs. Knights do not cry, nor do they care so much for their charges. They serve. They remain objective to keep their judgment clear.

“I am fine, my lady,” he says. “It is just that you are so beautiful today.”

She blushes furiously and looks away, but finds his eyes again seconds later. He smiles for her the best he can.

“Thank you,” she says, “That means a lot to me, coming from you.”

“I always think you are beautiful.”

She swallows hard and he feels her toy with his ring against his shoulder. “Did Rasler say anything about the ring?”

She shakes her head. “He trusts me. He trusts you too.”

‘He shouldn’t,’ Basch thinks. ‘I love her too much to be trusted.’

“I hope he is good to you, Ashe.”

“He will be. Will I still see you when you have time?”

He releases her hand and brushes back her hair, ill-advised as it may be. Her broad smile fades and they fall into something more serious, something more real, and he wishes he hadn’t spoken at all. He should have granted her the dance in silence. “When I can and when you can.”

“Rasler will not stop me from spending time with you. You said that maybe I could start running with you and Vossler in the mornings…”

“We will be training harder soon,” he tells her quietly, “you know why…”

Her face falls and she looks away from her. He pulls her close as they sway in their place and the crowd mutters in approval of their display of affection. Could the knight and princess be any more adorable? They are like brother and sister, after all...

“So I lose you either way.”

“No. No, my Princess,” he says, resting a gloved hand on the back of her neck, wishing he could feel the soft skin there with his bare hands, “You’ve never lost me. Should you yell for my aid, I will come despite any order or task laid before me. My duty is to Dalmasca, and you are Dalmasca.”

The song ends, but Ashe holds on tightly longer than is proper. Basch slowly steps back, unlacing her from him, though it feels he is ripping away a part of himself, creating a wound that will take a lifetime to heal.

“Always my princess,” he says quietly so only she can hear. He bows and brings her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

Vossler materializes at their side, a grin the likes of which Basch has never seen on his face. “Is it my turn?” he asks. Ashe laughs, and this time Basch knows her heart is not in it, and nods. Basch releases her hand into Vossler’s and watches as he spins her around and begins to waltz with her.

Basch fades into the background to watch. He envies Vossler, who still sees a child when he looks at her. If only it were that simple for him. If only he had never been placed as her guard all those years ago…

But would he forego this feeling for contentment? Would that ignorance be better? Nay… he will bear the burden of knowing her, for knowing her and loving her have always been the same to him, and he will be a better, if sadder, man for it, always listening to her words echo in his dreams…

I do love you, Basch. I do.

“A son of Dalmasca.” Vossler’s voice is low but clear from behind Basch. He would have turned, addressed the new traitor, and asked him how a son of Dalmasca could disgrace his rightful queen in such a manner. He wanted to ask Vossler when their friendship came to matter so little to him that he would not even come to Basch for counsel. He would have, and a scene would have been made, if Basch hadn’t heard Fran begin to breath harder.

It professes into panting and then into an what looks like an anxiety attack and Basch realizes he can be of little help with his hands bound.

Vaan, who is closer to her, says her name in concern.

“Such heat,” Fran cries. “The mist. It’s burning!”

She falls to the ground, and Penelo and Vaan are at her side in an instant, though they are of little use as their hands are bound too. One of the soldiers steps toward them and Basch shoots Ashe a wary look. “Be careful,” he tells her, for he knows something is about to happen.

“You, stand!” the soldier yells, pointing at Fran.

Basch is completely unprepared for what happens next. The guard is thrown back by a flash of energy emitted by the Viera. Fran, suddenly, has leapt from the ground and glides through the air. She takes out guard after guard in wild leaps and bounds. For safety, Basch nudges Ashe and guides her to the rest of the party.

“What’s wrong with her?” Penelo asks, alarmed.

“I always knew Fran didn’t take well to being tied up,” Balthier replies, cool as ever. “I just never knew how much.”

Balthier’s hands are suddenly free. He turns to the others.

“How about you?”

“I like Fran’s idea,” Ashe says. “Let’s get out of here.”

In the confusion, Balthier removes Ashe’s restraints and then Basch’s as Ashe handles Vaan and Penelo. Vaan heads for the airship, no doubt to get to the cockpit before Balthier, but Vossler blocks his path with his raised sword.

“No farther!” he says. Basch knows that tone - Vossler’s mind will not be changed, nor will he be moved easily. “Sky pirates! The future of Dalmasca will not be stolen.”

Basch steps forward, hoping, though he knows it is in vain, that Vossler will see reason. He is not given the chance to speak.

“Why do this, Basch? The struggle is futile. You know where it leads!”

“I do know. All too well.”

The fall of Landis. Walking away from his mother and his brother. Basch raises his sword, ready to take on Vossler for the sake of a free Dalmasca.

“Ashe, lets’ go,” Balthier calls after Vossler has fallen to his knees. She wants to follow him and leave this place as quickly as possible, but she cannot leave Basch or Vossler. Fran’s breathing has grown faster and harder and she knows their time is limited. She wonders why Basch does not start pulling Vossler toward the ship. Why does he hesitiate?

Then she understands. He means to leave Vossler behind.

“All I have ever done --- I have ever thought of Dalmasca first.” Vossler’s voice is defeated - it is that of a dying man. Ashe’s chest tightens but there is no time for goodbyes or tears.

As always, there is no time to feel.

“I know you do. I would ne’er gainsay your loyalty.” Those words, Ashe knows, come from Basch’s heart, for he knows better than anyone that loyalty comes in many forms and colors.

“Look on what my haste has wrought. Did I act too quick?” he asks, looking up at Basch with pleading eyes. It is all Ashe can do not to run to Vossler and hold him in his suffering - her own life be damned. “Or was your return too late? I can serve her no more. You must take up my charge.”

Basch nods in final agreement and turns, running to Ashe.

“We must leave - now!”

“But Vossler…!”

He wastes no time and grabs her around the waist, pulling her with him, and she has no choice but to comply. As she steps onto the tiny airship she turns to see Vossler kneeling, his head hung. She wants to call to him, to thank him for all he has done, but there is no time.

Never enough time.

Balthier has set a course for Rabanastre. It will take the night to reach the city, so Fran takes the controls and the party settles in to rest from the day. Vaan and Penelo curl up together on the bench behind the cockpit, Balthier stretches out across a pair of seats and they are all asleep within minutes, for the are not plagued by the look on Vossler’s face as he fell to his knees.

Ashe and Basch, instead of leaving themselves open to the judgments of others, retreat to the bedroom in the back. It is empty, the two beds built into the wall bear only industrial sheets and blankets. The pillows are uninviting and sterile looking, but Ashe picks one up and holds it to her chest as she settles into the corner of one of the beds. She needs something to hold onto, and since Basch settles onto the opposite bed, she knows he will not let her borrow his shoulder.

They remain silent for a long time - minutes, hours, time slips by without measure. Basch remains still as stone, sitting on the edge of the mattress and leaning forward onto his knees, staring blankly at the fall. Ashe rests her head against the wall and looks down at the scratches on her knees, stroking the pillow, though she does not know why.

“I am sorry.” Those seem to be the words Basch speaks the most. Ashe looks up from her trance and sees that he is looking at her, his eyes full of something she cannot identify. Perhaps it is nothing.

Her eyes are full of tears she does not notice until she tries to focus on him.

“For what?” Her voice is weak - she wonders if he can make out her words.

“For Vossler. I should have found a different way… captured him somehow -“ He looks down from her, shaking his head.

“No.” Ashe shakes her head. “You and I both know Vossler would have killed you.”

“Perhaps I should have let him. It was he who has kept you safe all this time.”

“You would have done the same.”

His eyes meet hers quicker than she would have thought possible, and for a moment she forgets about Vossler and is simply thankful that whoever gave him that scar did not take his eye. She loves his eyes and the way he looks at her too much.

“You believe me now?”

“I think I’ve always believed you were innocent,” she admits, though she does not know where the thought comes from. “I should have trust you and your loyalty to Dalmasca, but… everyone was telling me that you were guilty and that you had taken my father from me… and I wondered if I was somehow to blame.”

They stare at each other. Basch is the first to move. He stands, slowly to keep from startling her, and moves to her bed and sits on it. He leaves enough room to keep her comfortable.

“You are far too young to bear these burdens, Ashe,” he says. Her resolve begins to crumble and her tears spill over, rolling down her cheeks.

Basch cannot check the instinct to wipe them away. He brings his calloused hand to her face and wipes them away with his thumb and his hand feels good - so good - on her face. She raises hers to his and holds his palm to her cheek, taking in the warmth.

This is not the time or the place, she knows. She is still a princess and he is a disgraced knight, but there is no other time or place - there never has been. She looks up at him, her pain and fear showing through to someone else for the first time since he last left her because Basch is and will always be her only comfort.

“Ashe…” he whispers. She can see that he wants to keep his composure. He always does, but it is breaking. She can feel it in the shaking of his hand, the heightened pulse she can feel at his wrist. She raises her free hand to his face and moves it over his features - his nose first, his eyebrows and the scar, his cheeks and the stubble at his jaw and then his lips, which she knows she can never touch with more than her fingers.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispers. “We’ll stop Vayne and restore Dalmasca. Vossler will be known as a hero and I will be queen. I will clear your name.”

“Do not worry for my name, majesty,” he says. She moves from the wall and slides closer to him, her legs under the arm he wraps around her. “Worry for your kingdom first.”

It would be so easy to kiss him, to give in to what she feels for just a moment, but she knows he will never permit it, even if he felt the same way. Instead, she rests her head against his shoulder and turns her face against his neck, breathing him in. He holds her tight and runs his fingers through her hair, taking in the feeling of her against him, and they both relax under their grief and acceptance.

Basch closes his eyes and he is with his milkmaid bride in Landis.

Ashe closes hers and sees her other prince laughing in the morning light.